Rose Gold| Paint series

2. Blue

It had been a few weeks, at least for him it had. He didn't bother to try and see if anyone cared for his absence but it was nice of the teacher to leave his work untouched. What was his next color to detail today? The feeling of emptiness never truly went away yet it simply brought forth another feeling that was quite common. He had already figured out the color so now all that was left was to detail it.

Blue. What was blue? Did it have a taste? Did it have a number? Did it have a feeling? Was it associated with emotions? Blue is the calm before the storm, it's the waves that gently crash against the sand before becoming a tsunami of utter despair that you can't get out of. Blue had no acquired taste for it simply tasted like the colors were merged together. It had no direct feel other than the softness that tends to come along with it. In reality, Blue is sharp and cold, much like grey, black, and white yet Blue held itself in a different standard, a different light.

He breathed in through his nose, legs swinging back and forth as he sat himself upon the stool. The brush moved upwards and while he stared at the blue streak across the page, his eyes flickered off towards the buckets of paint.

White.

Black

Grey

RED

Blue

He often wondered how colors and emotions were the same. Every day he sat there, painting with only two specific colors until his masterpiece was done. He wondered if anyone would truly remember it, if anyone would look back upon the delicate canvases, filled with the colors of a torn soul that they would smile and say in a bittersweet voice that 'He was right'. He shook his head at the idea, a bitter laugh escaping those cherry pink lips as his round cheeks that were sprinkled with numerous red freckles became dusted within a light shade of pink.

Instead, he continued to stare at the blue streak and the longer he did, the longer he felt that it was imperfect, that the whole idea which was being brought forth from his mind was horrid. His lips twitched downwards and his eyes seemed to dull more than necessary.

Blue.

Reaching forward, smooth and dainty fingers curled around the edges of the page and without further warning, a sound of crinkling paper echoed across the empty room. He threw his head back, throwing the paper within the trash as he felt his eyes sting harshly. Why couldn't he form perfect ideas for once? What masterpiece needed blue? A soft sigh escaped his lips as he closed his eyes, mind buzzing and heart beginning to pound within his chest, the boy had begun to lift the brush upwards, peeking one eye open to stare at the now blank canvas in front of him.

He often wondered what Blue could be within a emotion, what purpose did it hold within the hall of colors and feelings? To him, there was a hall within one's mind where feelings or normally called, emotions were labeled with a certain color and sometimes, these colors suited them and other times, they didn't. Nonetheless, he still thought, the feeling of complete despair that wrapped around his foggy mind was enough to cause a breakdown to occur. He leaned his head against the chair having slid down the stool in his stupor.

"Blue....Blue..." his voice was raspy as if void of use, hoarse as if it was never used properly yet the words rolled off his tongue like sweet honey. He rolled his tongue against his lips, eyes narrowed in a half lidded form that made him look as if he was drunk or possibly sleepy. He moved the brush again, lips curving slightly as he sat up.

Blue was the sea. It was the waves that crashed gently against the sand before the storm turns it into a tsunami. Blue doesn't have a feeling for it comes and goes, it doesn't have a set weight for at times it will lighten and at times it will feel as heavy as lead yet blue does indeed have a taste, the taste of salt water.

The blue brush was held tightly as the masterpiece he had drawn was from his own memory, a memory he had unintentionally brought forth to stroke upon the sheets of white. His lips wobbled briefly, his eyes stinging as he bowed his head, curled his knees up to his chest and let the blue paint drip unto the tiled floors.

A simple silhouette of a boy was standing on the white sand, the waves of blue crashing gently against it yet as the painting gets more detailed, the waves have swallowed him whole. He's screaming for help, flailing his small arms, opening his mouth and letting the sea water and taste of salt flood his insides. He was becoming drowned.

Blue is the sea of the world's feelings and at any moment, it will become a tsunami. Be a good lad and stand as strong as a rock.

━━━◯━━━
Hey guys, Author here! Another update already? So, go ahead and comment your analysis on the boy's interpretation of blue you can also comment what emotion he was trying to describe (be detailed though). Anyways, I won't update as much anymore as I have school and things needed to get done.